


Carve Your Name in My Skin

by SamoanSexGodReigns



Series: Kinktober 2018 [5]
Category: World Wrestling Entertainment
Genre: Do not post to another site, Established Relationship, F/M, Femdom, Impact Play, Kinktober 2018, Masochism, Non-Wrestling AU, Sadism, no beta we die like men
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-03
Updated: 2019-10-03
Packaged: 2020-11-23 02:02:25
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,331
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20884334
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SamoanSexGodReigns/pseuds/SamoanSexGodReigns
Summary: Roman likes pain more than just about anything else - except the Queen who gives it to him.





	Carve Your Name in My Skin

**Author's Note:**

> I don't know what this is. Have some Kinktober prompts from last year. ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯

The credits of the movie roll, and Natalya sighs her contentment as she gathers up the popcorn bowl and her wine glass to deposit in the kitchen sink. She stops in the bathroom long enough to freshen up before making her way down the hall to the last door on the left. The door has a simple brass knob and a sturdy deadbolt that only she has the key for. Its warm weight a constant reminder where it sits heavy with promise between her breasts. Sliding the slim silver chain over her head she slips the key into the lock and with a deep, steadying breath, opens the door.

The sight that greets her on the other side has her heart accelerating in her chest with anticipation. In the center of the room, standing exactly how she’d left him, is a gloriously nude Roman Reigns. The pink silicone cuffs around his wrists are attached to a black chain that connects to a hook in the ceiling, which keeps him balanced precariously on his toes. The position he’s held in has the muscles of his arms, his back, and his legs bulging with definition beneath his beautifully bronzed skin. The strain of the position is obvious from the fine tremors rippling through his body, but he hasn’t moved an inch, the boundary lines of glitter she’d set to test him completely undisturbed.

She walks deeper into the room, her heels clicking over the tile severely as she comes to stand in front of him. If possible, the view from the front is even better than the view from behind. His silky black hair is tied back with one of her pink scrunchies because he knows that she likes to see his face when they’re in this room. He keeps his eyes on the floor, just like he’s been taught, but she knows if he turned his eyes on her they would be hard with determination and hazy with arousal. His white teeth are buried in his bottom lip as he breathes deep and controlled through his nose. The muscles of his chest are lifted with the extension of his arms, and it draws her attention immediately to his hardening nipples. Usually, the right one sort of blends into the intricate ink of the tattoo that covers his pectoral, arm, and shoulder, but when they’re hard and on display like this, they’re impossible to miss. His entire body is smooth and hairless like a swimmer, and she trails her eyes over the quivering muscles of his stomach to the only bit of hair below his neck, the tightly trimmed mass of black hair around his cock. He’s not hard yet, blood rushing in his veins only now being directed southward, and she watches as he hardens under her gaze. 

He was fuckin’ perfect, and he was all hers. No one had ever stirred her passions this way, the way he responded to her every touch, the way he sounded, and God the way he _writhed_ for her. It was sublime. He took every bit of violence she dealt him, absorbed it, and returned it all as devotion. She’s never been with anyone like him, and the responsibility of respecting and preserving the trust he continues to give her is always resting on her shoulders.

“Do you know how long you’ve been standing here, my pet?” she asks, seemingly disinterested in his response.

“No, my Queen.” he rumbles, and she barely suppresses the shiver that voice wants to coax out of her.

“You’ve been standing here for,” she pauses to check the time on her diamond-encrusted watch, “an hour and forty-three minutes. Do you suppose that’s long enough to impress me?”

“I hope so, my Queen.”

“We’ll have to see my pet.” She slaps his stomach with the back of her hand, and his upper body jolts in surprise. “I can see that you’re shaking quite a bit, pet. You haven’t disturbed my glitter, have you?” She asks seriously.

“No, my Queen, I haven’t broken your lines of glitter.”

Natalya already knows he’s correct, of course, a flick of her eyes can confirm it in under a second, she just wanted to hear him say it, wanted to keep him on edge. “The glitter boxes allow for only an inch of instability in either direction, and it looks like you haven’t moved even a centimeter. That is very impressive, indeed, my pet. It’s so impressive that I do believe you’ve earned yourself a reward.” She reaches out to pinch and twist his puffy nipples, and he groans in the back of his throat. “Would you like that?”

“I would like that very much, my Queen.”

“Good.” She uses the tip of one French manicured nail to tip his head up so she can look into his eyes. The grey depths are unfocused when they connect with her own, but they clear a little when they lock in on her face. “I’m going to whip you tonight Roman, and as an extra reward for how good you’ve been, I’m going to let you decide what I whip you with.”

Roman’s eyes go wide, and his pupils visibly expand as the tip of his tongue comes out to wet his lips. “Thank you, my Queen.” he whispers reverently.

After very little consideration, Roman chooses his favorite toy – a black belt with rounded metal studs set into the leather. He likes the pattern of welts that the studs leave behind, loves the way he can trace over them with his fingers for weeks after, loves the way each bump feels like letters of Natalya’s name. A claim and a promise written in braille on his skin that he never wants to fade away.

She folds the belt in half, metal studs facing outward, and snaps it a few times. The crack of the leather is loud in a room filled only with his heavy breathing, and the sound causes him to jump involuntarily. It puts more pressure on his wrists and shoulders, and he grits his teeth through the pain as it shivers to the surface of his skin as cotton candy pleasure. She swings the belt lightly through the air a few times, getting a feel for it in her hand before she turns back to him.

“What do you say if you need me to stop, pet?”

“I say ‘red,’ my Queen.”

She smiles at him then, slow and fond. She cups his cheek and brushes her thumb gently over his cheekbone, and he allows himself to lean into her cherry-scented palm. “That’s right, pet.” She pulls her hand away, and it cracks across his face in a slap that forces his head to the side. Heat blooms on his cheek, he tastes blood in his mouth, and his cock twitches desperately in the air. 

“Now, for tonight’s rules. Instead of counting strikes or thanking me after each one, I mean, we both know you’re already grateful for me kicking your ass, so I don’t need to hear it _every_ time. No, tonight, after every lash, I want you to name a world country – alphabetically. If you can’t think of a country, skip a letter, or repeat a letter, all play stops, and you don’t get to cum tonight. However, if you manage to complete the challenge, you may cum at any time. Do you understand the rules?” she asks.

“Yes, my Queen. I understand,” he answers. 

Her eyes light with a predatory gleam, and her smile turns sharkish. “Then let us begin.”

Natalya steps behind him and drags her nails from his ass to his shoulder, and back down the other side hard enough that he knows there will be raised red tracks left behind. Goosebumps break out over his skin, and in the midst of the accompanying shiver, she makes her first strike. The belt whips across his ass, and Roman swears he can feel each individual stud dig into his flesh, that he can feel each stitch of it kissing his skin. 

“Australia, my Queen.” he says, measured and firm.

She fires off three more lashes of various strengths in quick succession, and the burn in his ass spreads into his blood and charges sparking atoms of pleasure in his veins. The quickening of his heart pumps his blood faster, and soon the fire is scorching his entire body.

“Brazil, China, and Denmark, my Queen.” he says, voice soft but steady. Trying to control his breathing is becoming harder, and with each strike, his ability to think slips away on a cloud of freedom.

He makes it from E to K on autopilot as her strikes chase explosions of bliss across his back and shoulders. The next lash over his thighs melts his legs, and the extra weight on his hands has the cuffs digging into his wrists and cutting off circulation to his hands. The pressure in them starts to build, and they throb with every beat of his racing heart, and the first drop of pre-come slides down the length of his cock.

He must not reply to the hit fast enough because he can hear her take a step back, Valentino stilettos tapping distinctively on the floor. “What was that, my pet? I don’t believe I heard your answer. You didn’t lose your place, did you?” she asks innocently. 

“No, my Queen. Libya, my Queen.” he whines.

The letters M, N, O, and P go by slowly, the heart-pounding, breath-stealing, roller-coaster climb before the exhilarating drop-plunge of release. The next whack of the belt curls around the front of his body and catches on one of his nipples. The slapping sting of it leaves him feeling like his nipple has been split in two, and it flows from his tit to his dick in an endless circuit of resonating pain-pleasure. He’s lost to it, pelvic muscles clenching and squeezing as they try to wrench a million tendrils of lust into one bone-shattering orgasm, and he’s almost there. He can feel it creeping down his spine and expanding behind his cock, and all it would take is one more hit, but…

“I guess you’re done, pet.” Natalya’s disappointed voice cuts through his lust-filled head, and he knows that he’s supposed to be doing something, but he can’t remember what it is. He shakes his head to try and reclaim some of that college earned intelligence from the pain wrecked remnants of his brain.

Natalya, his beautiful giving Queen, must take pity on him because once again, those kitty cat nails are scratching over his ass, and she’s saying, “I know this one is hard, but I know you can do it, Roman. Tell me a country that starts with the letter Q. You have three seconds.”

Q? Was there even a real country that started with the letter Q?

“One.”

Roman loses all control of his breathing and starts gasping for air as he furiously trashes every corner of his mind in search of an answer to Natalya’s question. There had to be one, right?

“Two.”

_Shit_. If he couldn’t think of an answer, Nattie wouldn’t allow him to come tonight. He could feel tears of frustration building at the corner of his eyes, and he whined pathetically. He heard her inhale to call for his execution, and it was like time slowed down and sped up simultaneously as every synapse in his masochistic brain fired because he shouted, “Qatar! Qatar, my Queen!” 

Her pride is clear in her voice, and it rushes over Roman like a tsunami of relief and satisfaction. He basks in it, rolls around in the aquamarine undertow of it in his mind until he feels Natalya pull back and lash him as hard as she can across the globes of his ass. He can feel the warm, tender skin of one cheek split, and just like that, he’s back on the precipice of La petite mort like he’d never left its peaks to begin with.

“Romania, my Queen!” he succeeds in moaning as his body tightens from scalp to sole. 

One final whack of the belt across his lower back forces his entire body forward, and he feels his toes drag through the until now forgotten glitter on the floor, and he knows it’s going to be all over his feet, but he doesn’t care because he’s fuckin’ cumming. His orgasm rips through him with countless teeth, and he roars, something primal and animalistic, as his vision whites out, and he shakes through the intensity of it. 

After a millennium, the overwhelming onslaught boils down to a soft simmering glow, and he hears Natalya say, “Pretty.” He opens his eyes to find her standing in front of him with a gentle smile on her lips and a light sheen of sweat around her collarbones. Her eyes are near black with her dilated pupils, and Roman imagines he can smell the wetness soaking her panties underneath her strappy red dress. His spent cock gives an admirable twitch as he leaks more cum into the glitter-cum mixture already pooling on the floor.

The sight of it makes her giggle. “Not tonight, my pet. Let’s get you down and cleaned up, yeah?” He nods his affirmative as she reaches up to release the strap of the cuffs. It’s an instant relief to lower his arms, but it also tugs and stretches every cut, scratch, and bruise forming on his back, and he hisses in discomfort. 

Natalya’s rubbing her soft fingers over his hands and wrists to work out the stiffness in the joints. “I’ve got some ice and aloe ready for that back when you think you can make it to the bed. Does that sound good?”

“Yeah, that sounds perfect.” He pulls her closer so he can lean down and lay a tender kiss on her sweet lips. “I love you, Nattie.”

She presses their foreheads together and nuzzles their noses. “I love you too, Roman.”

**End**

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the Kinktober 2018 Day 5 Prompt - Sadism/Masochism


End file.
